


The Odd One Out

by RainyDayDecaf



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Characters meeting different versions of themselves, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multiverse, Post-Apocalypse, Referenced Emotional Abuse, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyDayDecaf/pseuds/RainyDayDecaf
Summary: It takes being thrown into another universe and meeting other versions of himself to make Aziraphale realize there is something wrong with the way his Crowley treats him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 148
Kudos: 643





	The Odd One Out

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve only heard a few vague things about the Terrible Movie Adaption That Never Was, and I can safely say I’ve heard enough. Please enjoy this Fix It Fic in which Movie Aziraphale finds a support group.
> 
> Edit: New scene added just because my muse was unhappy with the plot hole XD

It was time to get rid of them.

 _Finally_.

It took every ounce of self-control Gabriel possessed not to cackle righteously to himself, crouched on the roof of Aziraphale's silly little bookshop with a crumpled paper in his hand. It was a page ripped from an ancient magical tome, just one of many locked away in Heaven's archives and considered too dangerous to be in the hands of anyone, whether mortal or immortal.

But Gabriel had found it. And now, he would make use of it to rid this universe of the traitor Aziraphale and his lovesick demon. Michael would praise him for his ingenuity when the deed was done, and then Heaven and Hell could see about getting the Great Plan back on track, without _those_ _two_ in a position to mess it up again.

Gabriel never once doubted he was doing the right thing. God would not have put this spell in his path otherwise.

He squinted at the paper as he mouthed out the ancient Enochian letters. Heaven had recently updated the majority of their records to electronic and included an option to have reports and messages read aloud by a pleasant, androgynous voice. It had been well over five decades since Gabriel was forced to actually _read_ anything. He was out of practice, though he managed to muddle through after a few false starts. The Words he chanted into the crisp morning air were halting and uncertain, but brimming with power (and, unbeknownst to him, pronounced completely wrong).

Incantation finished, Gabriel eagerly looked down at the doors of the bookshop. If all went well, Aziraphale and Crowley would now be exiled to a parallel universe with no means of ever returning.

Wait for it…

_Wait for it…_

…

Gabriel frowned and glanced down at the paper. "Huh."

_CRACK!_

Lightning struck, magic surged, and the street below was suddenly teeming with demons and angels. Six of them piled on top of each other, wings and limbs all akimbo, they made such a racket that they drew the stunned attention of dozens of passing humans. At least until one of the immortals waved a hand, and then the humans looked the other way and went about their business.

The bookshop doors burst open. Crowley and Aziraphale both came sprinting outside, and now there were eight immortals all shouting and shoving and clamoring to talk over each other. Four demons and four angels. Four demons wearing stylish black and four angels wearing outdated creams and browns in the style of last century.

Oh, God in Heaven. There were _eight of them_ now.

"Shit me!" Gabriel gasped, then immediately crossed himself for the blasphemy. He teleported several streets over and hurried to lose himself in the crowds, praying he hadn't been noticed. One of the humans jostled him rudely and caused the torn page to fly out of his hand. Gabriel watched in horror as a stray wind caught it up and whisked it down a sewer grate, lost forever in the dark and damp.

He raised his hand, ready to snap his fingers… but, no. No miracles. He had gone behind Michael's back to get ahold of that spell and carry out this plan. If word got back Upstairs of just how badly he had screwed up, there might be far worse than a demotion waiting for him.

Cursing up a storm and praying this mess somehow sorted itself out, Gabriel snapped open his wings and fled. This was Aziraphale's problem now.

* * *

The other versions of himself were all looking at him oddly.

Aziraphale knew he ought to be concerned about that. And perhaps a bit anxious over the situation in general. It wasn’t every day one was swept away to a parallel universe by a rogue spell of unknown origins. But the landing had been painful for him, he had knocked his head on the curb outside this quaint little bookshop, and healing the injury hadn’t quite been enough to shake off the lingering dizziness.

The cocoa helped, though. The kindly fellow in the tartan bowtie ( _Zira_ , he had asked to be called) had been most insistent that he drink some. And the one with the thick glasses and curly hair ( _Mr. Fell, if you please_ ) had offered him something stronger if he was still feeling discombobulated in half an hour. The third one, the one wearing a distinctive wedding band, ( _Oh, I suppose Azira will do, this will get confusing otherwise_ ) had already gathered up a load of books and started feverishly researching ways to get the three displaced immortals back to their worlds.

Well… _six_ displaced immortals, he should say. The four Crowleys weren’t currently present, and Aziraphale kept wondering if he should be worried. Things had been… confusing when the displaced pairs were all dumped onto the pavement at once. The resident Aziraphale and Crowley of this world had burst out of the bookshop in a flurry of feathers at their intrusion, and there had been an awful lot of shouting and accusations. His own Crowley had been the loudest of all, hauling Aziraphale to his feet with a characteristic lack of care for his person.

_What have you done now, you absolute moron?! I was on Alpha Centauri, having the time of my life, what did you drag me back here for?! If this is some kind of sick joke, I’ll tear your damn throat out!  
_

Aziraphale had habitually tuned him out in favor of looking around at this strange version of London they had landed in. The bookshop in particular had drawn his eye. He could practically smell the antiquity, and the thought of adding some precious tomes to the museum had nearly made him forget the entire situation. Even now that he was sitting inside it, Aziraphale couldn’t resist looking around, taking it all in with a smile.

“This really is a beautiful shop! Have you had it very long, Zira?”

Zira hesitated. “Yes, since the early nineteenth century,” he said carefully, like he was answering a trick question. “But… didn’t you know that? You have one in your world, surely?”

“Oh, I’m afraid not,” Aziraphale said with a faint laugh at the memory. “I thought about it, once. But Crowley said it was a daft idea, that I didn’t know the first thing about running a shop. It all seemed like a lot of bother when he put it like that. Not that there’s anything _wrong_ with being a museum curator, but I do have a preference for books.”

Zira didn’t say anything. Neither did the other two. But there were those _looks_ again. It seemed every time Aziraphale shared something about himself, about his world, the other three would all pause and hold some unspoken conversation. The silence was unnerving, guarded and almost frightened in a way. It was making Aziraphale self-conscious.

He gave a nervous cough.

“Have I said something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Mr. Fell assured him hastily. Aziraphale liked this version. So confident and clever, Mr. Fell had been the voice of reason from the very start, shouting down all the others and piecing together what had happened straight away. Though, this being Zira’s world, he still politely deferred to the other angel and asked permission before touching anything in the shop or opening any alcohol.

The third one, Azira, seemed to have no such compunction. Already he was bustling back into the depths of the shop to rifle through more spellbooks, muttering to himself and twisting the ring on his finger in a nervous gesture. It was a lovely piece, circa 1020 AD, if Aziraphale’s expertise was worth anything. Aziraphale wondered if the choice to wear it as humans did, upon the ring finger, had a special significance, or if it was merely part of his human guise.

“Does he always treat you like that?” Zira asked suddenly.

“Who?”

“Zira!” Mr. Fell admonished, almost hissing out the word.

“No, no, I want to hear this too!” Azira called out from the stacks. “ _Someone’s_ got to say it. Why is your Crowley such an arsehole?”

“Yes, my thoughts exactly!” Zira said, huffing indignantly. “I can imagine we were all thinking the same thing! The way he _manhandled_ you, that was completely uncalled for!”

“Not to mention the name-calling,” Azira said. “Mine would never get away with that. Well… unless I asked for it. Under specific circumstances.”

Zira blushed hotly. “Oh my…”

Mr. Fell jabbed a stern finger at the other two. “If we could all please focus, we have much bigger problems! And it isn’t our business to pry–”

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said, which silenced them all. “That’s just… how he is? I’ve heard him call me every name under the sun. But, you know, he’s a demon, you can’t take that sort of thing personally.”

Another long silence. Zira looked horrified, and even the calm Mr. Fell had a dangerous stillness about him.

“Don’t yours do the same?” Aziraphale asked, a little desperate now for confirmation. _Yes, of course it’s normal, we all know exactly what you’re talking about._ He waited, hoping, but neither Zira nor Mr. Fell would look him in the eye.

Aziraphale let his gaze fall to the mug of cocoa in his hands, suddenly feeling very cold inside. Remembering now how the other three Crowleys had all pulled their angels close in the confusion, hissing and spitting insults at everything in sight _except_ for their angels. And then, when his own Crowley had started in on one of his rants, listing off all the reasons this sorry mess was a result of Aziraphale’s own stupidity, the three demons had _lunged_ at him, taking his Crowley to the ground and pinning him while the angels ushered Aziraphale indoors. Aziraphale had been too woozy at the time to absorb the full implications, how _violently_ the others had reacted to Crowley’s vitriol.

But now? Well…

“…I’m beginning to think,” Aziraphale said in a small voice, “that I may be the odd one out here.”

“Not you,” Zira said firmly. “It’s your Crowley we have a problem with. Believe me, _you_ ’ve been an absolute delight in the five minutes we’ve known each other!”

“You don’t seem to much care for him either,” Mr. Fell said gently. “If I may be so bold as to say it out loud?”

Aziraphale bit his lip, feeling very lost. “He’s… my friend,” he said. “My only friend. He’s all I’ve had since the Beginning…”

Azira was suddenly crouched in front of him with a look of deep understanding. “Only because there was no one else. That’s why you put up with him. Right?”

Aziraphale felt very strongly that he should object. His bond with Crowley was no mere convenience, not to him, even if it was one-sided. But really, what else could one expect of a demon? Affection? Loyalty? _Love?_ No, he was lucky that Crowley tolerated him. Lucky that Crowley _only_ yelled at him, _only_ insulted him, because that wasn’t so bad, not as bad as it could have been.

That was what he kept telling himself. But now that he had seen _this_ … The Way It Could Have Been… Aziraphale looked from Azira’s face down to his wedding band and felt his breath seize up, his corporation shaking.

 _Why?_ Aziraphale thought in growing anguish. _Why is it different for all of them? What went wrong with my world? Was it me? Did I not do enough? Could I have tried harder to make him want me? I would have gone with him, if he’d asked, I would have gone_ anywhere _with him, but he went off alone, he didn’t even say goodbye…  
_

He didn’t realize he had said it all out loud until the other three were suddenly hugging him, sheltering him with their wings. They glowed with love and sorrow, and it was all too much, Aziraphale could feel himself breaking, falling apart, hot tears spilling down his cheeks on the material plane while his ethereal self keened into the void.

* * *

He didn’t speak with Crowley again until the collective angels finally located the correct spell that would send them back to their worlds. Zira called up his demon, and the eight of them gathered in the bookshop. Crowley, Aziraphale noticed, seemed very subdued in the company of his other versions. The other three demons all kept him in their sight and didn’t bother to hide their loathing and occasional hisses.

The ritual circle in the center of the shop began to glow. Zira shut the spellbook and met Aziraphale’s eyes, then nodded at Crowley. “Right. In you go! This will take you back to your universe.”

“Good riddance,” Crowley growled and stalked into the circle, flippantly throwing up a middle finger to the other demons. “I hate this shit world, be glad to get back to my own. Coming, Aziraphale?”

It wasn’t meant as a question. Crowley didn’t even look at him. Aziraphale took a deep breath, drawing strength from Azira at his side, clasping his hand tightly. “No,” he said, his words shaking, “I don’t think I will, actually.”

Crowley whirled around in shock. “Wha–!” he shouted, but that was all he had time to say before the spell whisked him off back home. Alone.

“ _Good riddance_ ,” one of the Crowleys said mockingly. Behind him, another Crowley miracled up a champagne bottle and popped the cork.

“Drinks all around! The arsehole is gone!”

The next two hours were spent getting very drunk in very good company. Aziraphale couldn’t decide whether he wanted to laugh hysterically or collapse to the floor and sob. Loneliness tugged at him, an ache where Crowley had once been, and he had a feeling he was going to cry about this at great length later. But for now, it was difficult to be sad when he was surrounded by so much _love_.

Zira and his red-haired partner were adorable to watch. So shy with each other, yet they seemed glued at the hip, swaying to the music coming from the gramophone and stealing kisses when they thought no one was watching. Over on the couch, Mr. Fell and his own demon were sprawled out completely at ease and laughing over their drinks, heads tipped heads together like they were sharing a delightful secret.

And as for Azira and his husband…

“We want you to come with us.”

Aziraphale gaped his mouth open and shut a number of times. He hadn’t given much thought on where, exactly, he would live after all of this. He had only known that he didn’t wish to go back to his own terrible universe. There had been some vague plans to stay with Zira and his partner until a more permanent solution was found, but…

“In your universe?” Aziraphale croaked, the glass in his hand trembling so much that he had to set it down. “But… are you sure? I wouldn’t be intruding?”

Azira’s husband shook his head. “No, not at all, my friend,” he said. The way he said those words, _my friend_ , kept giving Aziraphale the oddest fluttery feeling in his stomach. Though maybe that was just his voice, rolling over his ears like black silk. “After everything my angel has told me, I think our world would suit you nicely.”

“We’re moving to the South Downs anyway,” Azira added. “But to be honest, I’ve had some reservations about moving the books there. All that saltwater in the air, you see?”

“Yes?” Aziraphale said, even though he wasn’t entirely sure he understood.

“So I was thinking,” Azira went on sheepishly, “maybe I could keep my books in the shop? As long as there was someone I trusted staying there to look after it? I can show you the business side of things, and you’d have lots of humans to talk to. We can introduce you as my cousin or something to that effect. And we’d drop in to visit often, so you wouldn’t be on your own…”

Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath. “You would let me run the _shop?_ ” he said in a fragile voice.

Azira chuckled. “Well, you _are_ me! Who else can I trust, if not myself?”

“A human?” his husband said drolly. “I’ve heard there’s this thing called _hiring an assistant_ …”

“Are you _trying_ to give me an aneurysm?!”

“Angels don’t have aneurysms.”

“There’s a first time for everything!”

“I would be honored!” Aziraphale cried. He caught himself and wrung his hands, embarrassed by the outburst. “If it’s truly alright with you, I mean. As I said, I don’t wish to intrude…”

“We wouldn’t ask if we didn’t want you there,” Azira vowed. He took Aziraphale’s hand, and his husband took the other, the three of them forming a triangle, and their compassion was almost too much. Aziraphale felt his eyes welling up again, but he also couldn’t withhold a beaming smile, his hands very warm cradled in theirs.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured. “So very much.”

“All settled then?”

Aziraphale nodded, turning to face Zira. “Yes, I think so. We’ve come to an arrangement.”

There was a round of snickering from the demons at the term _arrangement_ , followed by a round of gentle scolding from their respective angels. And there wasn’t much else to say after that. The remaining pairs wished the three of them safe travels and a happy eternity, and when the circle next lit up, Aziraphale stepped inside along with his two new friends. And as the magic swept them away, he didn’t give another thought to what he was leaving behind.

For the first time in six thousand years, he looked forward to what the next six thousand would bring.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Evening the Odds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274242) by [Zorianne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zorianne/pseuds/Zorianne)




End file.
